


By your side

by Everydayishark



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hero/Villain, Love, M/M, Mild Gore, Non-liniar, Oops, POV First Person, Speedster Minhyuk, Super strength Shownu, names what names who needs names, sorry minhyuk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 05:53:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14826587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everydayishark/pseuds/Everydayishark
Summary: We used to be partners. Friends. (Lovers...), but I barely recognize the man in front of me. Jokingly, I used to call him the gentle giant, but nothing about him is gentle now.





	By your side

We used to be partners. Friends. (Lovers...), but I barely recognize the man in front of me. Jokingly, I used to call him the gentle giant, but nothing about him is gentle now.   
  
He yanks my head up, forcing me to face him, to look upon the face I was once so familiar with. (He looks down on me and smirks and it unnerves me more than I'd like to admit.)  
\--  
I reach out to touch his face. His cheeks feel rough and stubbly-- he hasn't shaved yet. (I like this look though. Sleepy, slightly disheveled with mushed up hair and a textured chin perfect for running my fingers along.)   
  
I wonder if I should wake him. I decide not to. We rarely get moments like this. I want to treasure it just a little bit longer. (Because I know once we leave this room the world will need saving again, and there will be no more time for you and me.)   
\--  
His fist connects with my gut. Fuck. It feels like being hit by a truck. I would double down if he wasn't holding my head up by my hair. Instead I cough, retching up blood from what is no doubt a punctured internal organ.  
  
"Heh. Is that all you got? Guess you really did get old." I say, smiling foolishly, and I see the flash of anger in his eyes.  
  
Taunting him is DEFINITELY a bad idea, but I need him angry. Irrational. Sloppy. The speed of his punches increases, but his accuracy wavers, and his grip on my hair falters.  
  
In those milliseconds of chance, I grab the opportunity, kicking back hard and fast before slipping from his grasp.  
\--  
"I'm Hyunwoo," he says, awkwardly staring at my extended hand as if he's unsure what to do with it.   
  
Within the first hour on our first day as training partners he manages to punch me in the arm so hard it breaks. I have to wear a cast the next three weeks. I still kick his ass. (Once I've gotten the hang of dodging his strong but painfully slow punches.)  
  
We get better at working together. We learn each other’s' strengths and weaknesses. We learn to trust each other. (We learn to like each other.)  
\--  
I'm glad I heal fast. Any regular human would've been toast with the amount of damage he did. I'm not saying I feel great (I definitely don't) but I'm still standing. I crack my knuckles. Let's see if he's learned some new tricks.   
  
I run up to him, releasing a flurry of punches so fast that they are invisible to the naked eye. He dodges and parries some, but most connect. I can feel his anger rising, boiling over.  
  
This anger management problem is a side I have never seen from him. Then again, there are other things I never expected to see.  
  
(Him, for starters.)  
  
Five years ago, he disappears in the middle of a mission. I search for him. I wait for him. I hope for him. (I mourn for him.)  
  
And now suddenly, here he is.   
  
All ready to destroy the world we fought so hard for. So many questions muddle my mind. But there's no time for pondering.   
  
I brace myself.  
  
Here he comes.  
\--  
The bullet tears through me before I can see it coming. It wasn't a regular gun. These weren't regular bullets.  
  
I go down, eyes wide in shock. A searing heat blooms in my stomach. I feel my hands claw at the wound but my hands don't feel like my own. I can't reach it. I can't take it out. I sink to my knees.  
  
Slipping in and out of consciousness, I see him rushing over. He shouts something to someone I can't see. He gathers me in his arms, picking me up as if I weigh nothing (to him, that's what it must feel like). _Nothing_. His lips on mine. They're soft. I guess this is what it must feel like to kiss him. Then I feel nothing.  
  
I wake up in the hospital. He's sitting next to the bed, slumped over in the chair, snoring softly. He's still bruised and bloody. He must not have left my side since then. I smile despite the pain. Did we kiss? No. There was air, and pressure on my chest. It was resuscitation. Nothing else.

Right?

….Right?

(We do kiss, weeks later. A real kiss. A proper kiss. And it complicates everything.)  
\--  
He was always afraid of hurting people, of letting people in. He presented himself as this awkward, emotionless man to the world. But the closer we got, the more I got to see the real him.   
  
His humor, his passions, his dreams, his desires. There was so much more to this man than he initially let on.  
  
He had hurt someone in the past. Someone he cared about. It had scarred him deeply, and as a result he didn't let anyone get too close.  
  
(But I slipped through the cracks of his armor. He wasn't supposed to let me in. I wasn't supposed to fall for him. There were many things we weren't supposed to do, I guess.)  
\---  
He charges at me like a mad bull, nostrils flaring, and I know he’s coming at me with the intent to kill. I know he can kill me. I’ve seen the extent of his power.

But never directed at people.

Never directed at me.

(And it scares me.)

At the very last moment I dodge and he rams into the wall behind me. He rips through the concrete like it’s a sheet of paper. I swallow hard.

What happened to him? His body is covered in scars, new and old, laced together like a web across his skin. He’s more powerful but something is wrong, I feel it, I see it. It hurts him. What happened to him? What made him so angry? What hurt him so bad?

Who hurt him so bad?

(I know one of the answers to that is probably me.)

\--

I trace my fingers across the skin of his back. It has become one of my favorite things to do while he is asleep. To feel his muscles, imposing but relaxed, as he wraps his arms around me. He’s so strong, but he’s so gentle with me. Like I might break at his very touch (I might, but I’m not planning on it).

Sometimes I catch him looking at me like I am the most precious and fragile thing in the world.

So tender. So careful. (It annoys me a little at first. I don’t want to be treated like a doll. It gets better over time. Baby steps. )

His eyes flutter open and he smiles softly. God, how can a man so big and strong be so soft and beautiful. He turns on his side and I nestle my head in the crook of his neck.

I wish this moment would never end.

(But it always does.)

\--

“Why?” I ask him, even though I know he’s not going to answer. “Why are you doing this?”

I look into his eyes and I see nothing left of the man I used to love. They’re cold… empty.

My punches and kicks connect but they don’t seem to bother him much. He swats me away like a fly. Maybe I am but a nuisance to him.

(Maybe I always was.)

I have to stop him.

\--

I am scared.

I am scared, because if this gets out, our careers are over. Our lives are over.

I am scared, because I love him so much that it hurts. And I’m tired. Tired of all the sneaking around, the lies, the stolen moments that can never be more than that. A moment.

Passing. Fleeting.

Gone.

\--

I run in circles around him, building momentum until I see an opening.

I strike, right below his chin. I can feel the bones in my hand shatter on impact. It’s a risky move. If this doesn’t take him down, I am more than screwed.

(I am dead. I try not to think about it.)

My arm hurts like hell but he sinks to his knees. For a moment he looks fragile. Vulnerable. Defeated.

Then he grabs my arms and yanks.

(Flesh tears.)

(Bones break.)

(Tendons snap.)

(My world flashes from red to black to white to nothing.)

\--

I tell him we should end this before the mission.

It will be our last mission together.

I don’t know this yet. (Maybe he does.)

He looks so shocked and hurt I want nothing more than to reach out and comfort him.

Instead I do nothing.

We spend the mission in awkward silence. We’re both distracted.

Neither of us notice the dark shadows lapping at our heels.

I don’t notice the shadowy hands clawing up and around his legs.

He is ripped from his place as fast as he was ripped from my life.

I am left with guilt and regret and… nothing.

I am left alone.

\--

I wake up in the hospital. Out of habit, I check the chair next to the bed, but it’s empty. Of course.

I am alone.

A nurse comes to check up on me. I ask her what happened. She shakes her head. She doesn’t know.

Once I’m healed, I get fitted for a prosthetic arm. I feel numb.

(Did you come back just to rip out my arm, as I ripped out you heart?)

I don’t understand.

I never will.

\--

“I love you,” He whispers in my ear. “Please come back to me.”

I’m in the hospital again. It’s bad. (It’s worse than the bullet.)

He never takes his eyes off me. He never leaves my side.

(I wish I would’ve done the same.)

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Another thing started at 2am  
> We should really stop meeting like this


End file.
